turn on the lights!
escaping my window frame is a horizontal gaze,
extending itself onto a perpendicular praise.
the numbers outweigh
the substance and sway.
tho ‘the dough’ is rolling on by cylinder finesse.
by wood crafting, but the ghost of sawdust is no mans fool.
is blunt with dull edges, yet it does chop.
from bharal to
bunny hop –
distance merely invites a motion or silent still
both of which can move a mountainous hill
further above, beyond and predictably ahead….
inquiring neighbors lounge, the graveyard of the dead.
though, the sprinkler system alarms the yawn to spawn a reactive measure,
set adjacent to the milk, honey, & pleasure
it is by outdated refrain,
i have foreseen the capable and much needed dream.
by neon surprise, this sleep has counted my weary and western eyes – however, the food has expired where there are now fruit flies.
sweet and stingy cuz i’ve survived the reaction which reckons with pickup and sorted decay. awakening my languid latitudes by drifting with the longitudes which have left me fed as prey.
yes, my hostage is hostile and unkept
by stratified emotions in which Jesus Wept.